


My Heart, It's A Fish Out Of Water

by trashcangimmick



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fucking So Good You Gotta Reboot Amirite Fellas, Intoxication, I’ve Arrived Boys And I Brought The Trash, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Connor gets an upgrade that lets him drink alcohol. Of course, he’s a lightweight and it ends in filthy sex on Hank’s couch.





	My Heart, It's A Fish Out Of Water

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to rub my dirty little hands all over this ship. I ain’t even finished the game yet. The HankCon too strong to resist.

“Connor. God damn it are you—are you _drunk?”_

 

Ethyl Alcohol consumption is a popular upgrade. That’s what the Traci behind the counter at the new CyberLife kiosk had said. Granted, she probably would have said that about anything that Connor decided to purchase. It’s her job to make customers feel at ease. Even though all androids are now free to pursue whatever vocation they choose, it makes sense to play to one’s strengths. That’s why Connor is still a detective.

 

She had also warned him that the upgrade was only being released in Beta. Malfunctions could occur.

 

Connor already attempted a self-diagnostic. All he got back was a string of garbled error messages.

 

“That seems like a distinct possibility, Lieutenant.” Connor smiles, leaning against the bar for support.

 

His visual processing cortex is glitching. Making the room spin slightly. His internal temperature sensors keep flashing alerts across his HUD. Telling him what he can already feel. He’s running at least a few degrees warmer than normal. Enough to be vaguely concerning, but nowhere near dangerous.

 

“Christ. You haven’t even finished two beers.” Hank lets out a heavy sigh before downing the rest of his whiskey.

 

It’s Hank’s birthday. This was a bad birthday present. Connor had hoped it could be enjoyable. Going out together. Both being able to have a few drinks. He doesn’t like to encourage Hank’s habits in general. But on special occasions…

 

“I feel very warm.” Connor presses a hand against his own cheek. Fever? Hank has gotten fevers before. This is certainly a similar sensation.

 

“No shit,” Hank snorts.

 

“There are other strange sensations…” Connor runs his hand down along the curve of his jaw. All of his sensors are in overdrive. He can feel more than just the usual pressure, hot or cold, sharp or smooth. He can feel texture. Something else. Something he doesn’t have a variable for. From his own touch, but even more so when Hank wraps a hand around the back of his neck and squeezes. It’s like a jolt of electricity.

 

“You OK there, champ?” Hank raises an eyebrow. Amused. He’s not drunk yet. A shaky scan returns a BAC of 0.03%. Well below the legal driving limit.

 

Connor sets his palm down on Hank’s thigh. Marvels at the texture of his jeans. Rough but inviting. He wants to touch Hank all over. But as his hand starts to drift upward, tracing the seam of Hank’s pants, his progress is halted. Hank grabs his wrist.

 

“All right. Come on. Let’s get you out of here before you cause a scene.”

 

Hank stands up and wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders. It’s easy to lean into him. He’s very soft. Steady. Connor allows himself to be coaxed off his bar stool and towards the door. Even though his feet don’t seem to be functioning properly. He keeps stumbling. Misjudging distance or angle.

 

“Why does the floor keep moving?” Connor frowns.

 

Hank lets out a low chuckle. “I’ve asked myself the same question too many times, kid. Welcome to the club.”

 

***

 

The ride home is very interesting. The visual glitches are even more intense. Connor keeps the window rolled down so he can stick his head out of it and feel the cool breeze on his overheated skin. His limbs are heavy, and resistant to commands. Hank has his favorite jazz station on the radio. He’s humming along with the trumpet line.

 

It’s difficult–focusing enough to analyze the melody.

 

 **_Title:_ ** _Blues for Alice._

 **_Composed by:_ ** _Charlie “Bird” Parker._

 **_Style:_ ** _modified 12-bar blues in F major, meant for a quintet._

 **_Original Recording:_ ** _Verve Records, 1951. Played by_ _Parker (saxophone), Red Rodney (trumpet), John Lewis (piano), Ray Brown (bass) and Kenny Clarke (drums)._

 

“Is Charlie Parker your favorite composer?” Connor hiccups. It’s a bizarre sensation. Profoundly uncomfortable. Though not quite painful.

 

“Yeah, he’s one of them.”

 

“I also like him.”

 

“All right,” Hank nods. “I guess now that you’re a deviant and shit, we’ll have to get you a taste in music. You could do worse than old Charlie Bird.”

 

The song ends. Hank keeps the station. Starts talking about the next musician. Even though it’s nothing Connor couldn’t pull up by analyzing it, he still listens. He likes when Hank talks about things that make him happy. When Hank smiles, just a little, and gets that excited glint in his eye.

 

It makes Connor _want_ things. Touch. Intimacy. Concepts that are still foreign and a little threatening. But he can’t help himself.

 

He’s done a lot of research on human relationships. He has to keep himself occupied at night when Hank sleeps. He thinks he may be experiencing emotions like affection. There’s an ache in his chest when Hank isn’t close by. He feels anxious when Hank does things that are dangerous. He has not voiced any of these theories yet. Not until he’s certain.

 

At this point, he’s only 97.6% sure that he’s in love. A 2.4% risk is too much when it comes to Hank. A 2.4% chance of hurting him, or even worse, being rejected by him, is untenable.

 

***

 

When they get back to the house, Hank has to help Connor to his feet. Walk him inside. They’ve been in this position before. Just, reversed. Usually Hank is the one falling down drunk.

 

“You sure I don’t need to take you for repairs or something…?” Hank’s forehead creases with worry as he sets Connor down on the couch.

 

“No.” Connor grabs the lapels of Hank’s coat and drags him forward. It’s enough force to make Hank lose his balance. Fall onto the cushions with a grunt.

 

Connor’s limbs aren’t being cooperative. But he manages to climb into Hank’s lap, straddling his hips, pressed close against him. Hank’s eyes are wide. Breathing faster. His heart rate has already increased by nearly ten beats per minute.

 

“I would like to have sex now.” The words are still enough to make a blue tinge rise on Connor’s cheeks. Not brand new. But new enough. Still exciting. Halfway forbidden.

 

“We really shouldn’t–” Hank starts. Unhelpful. Not what Connor wants to hear.

 

So he closes the remaining distance. Lets their lips brush together. Soft at first. Barely enough pressure to make contact. Just the way Hank taught him.

 

_Don’t go trying to stick your tongue down somebody’s throat right away. You gotta ease into it! And still probably dial it back 30%. Points for enthusiasm, but Jesus, kid._

 

Hank groans. Hands on Connor’s waist, pulling his shirt up to expose skin. He grabs onto Connor’s hips. Tight enough that it would bruise human skin. Tight enough to make Connor whimper and grind down against Hank’s growing hardness.

 

He loves it when Hank can’t control himself. When he wants to grab, and mark, and _take_. He loves being pinned against a wall, or a bed, or the floor, with Hank moving inside him, fast and rough. In the moment, he can pretend he’s helpless. That he’s made of something more fragile than synthetic flesh. It makes him feel alive.

 

“Please,” Connor whispers. Trailing kisses along Hank’s scruffy jaw. “Please touch me.”

 

“You’re drunk.” Hank says, like it’s a valid argument.

 

“We’ve had intercourse while you were intoxicated 17 times in the last 30 days.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m used to it. You’re—this is all new to you. I shouldn’t take advantage.”

 

There it is again. The same protest over and over, phrased differently each time. _I’m old and unattractive and it’s a mistake for you to want me._

 

Connor sits back enough that he can look at Hank. He lets his face shift to the expression that Hank calls the “puppy pout”. Eyes wide, biting his lower lip, eyebrows knitting together just enough to hint at bruised feelings.

 

“No, don’t you start that up!” Hank sounds irritated. But he’s still hard. His blood pressure is still elevated.

 

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?” Connor lets his breath hitch. Vulnerability as an affectation. Hank likes it when Connor is uncertain. Deferrent. Timid. He likes it when every time they engage physically seems like a loss of innocence.

 

“Don’t try to manipulate me into fucking you. It’s not gonna work.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Connor shifts a little, rolling his hips purposefully against Hank. “You just—you make me feel so good.”

 

“Damn it, Connor.” Hank tightens his grip. Forcing Connor to go still. He takes several deep breaths, like he’s attempting to clear his head.

 

“Daddy?” Connor lets his voice modulate a little higher. Softer. Even less sure. “Are you mad at me?”

 

The first time it happened was an accident. It just slipped out while they were having sex. Connor blames the pornography he’d downloaded to learn more about ‘dirty talk’ because Hank kept teasing him for being bad at it.

 

A quick calculation in the following moments of stunned silence showed a 68.1% chance of Hank getting very upset and storming off. But Connor was lucky. Hank just groaned and kept fucking him, even harder than before. It turned him on. Made him orgasm 20% faster than usual. Connor saw no reason not to investigate further.

 

“Fuck.” Hanks grunts. Letting his eyes fall shut. “No. I’m not mad. I just—are you _sure?”_

 

“Yes,” Connor breathes. “I need you. I’m so wet.”

 

It’s the truth. Connor’s boxer briefs are already damp. He’s leaking that silicone-based lubricant meant for his joints, repurposed as a sexual function. He got the upgrade months ago. It was a very good investment.

 

Hank pulls him into a kiss that’s sloppy, deep and desperate. The opposite of all his instruction. The way he kisses when he’s too aroused to care. And then Hank’s lifting him up. Lying him out on his back. Connor tries to help as Hank undresses him, but he’s still not doing great with fine motor functions. He’s naked from the waist down soon enough.

 

It feels dirtier somehow. Fucking on the couch while his shirt is still buttoned up. Hank doesn’t even bother to take his jeans off. He just unzips them and pulls his cock out.

 

Connor doesn’t really need to be stretched. Hank always slides a couple of fingers in him anyway. In Connor’s current state, it’s almost too much to cope with. His processors are still glitching, making him oversensitive. He gasps as Hank rubs against the pressure plate that sends pleasure signals directly to his brain. He’s hard. Throbbing. Desperate.

 

 _“Daddy. Please.”_ It comes out a broken sob. Connor doesn’t even have to put in an effort to sound overwhelmed.

 

Hank mercifully withdraws his fingers and replaces them with something better. Just the feeling of Hank’s thick cockhead pressing against him is almost enough to make Connor climax. He’s too keyed up. He can’t hold on.

 

He shudders apart as Hank slides into him. Splattering stickiness across his pristine white shirt.

 

“Holy shit,” Hank groans. “Did you just—Jesus. You just came.”

 

Connor smiles. Wide and dopey. He overrides the cooldown on his genital components. It’s not necessary. Just a note of realism. He wants more. Right now. He’s been ignoring warnings and error messages all night. The ones popping up about suggested lag time between uses of his sexual functions don’t matter.

 

Hank gives a few shallow thrusts, letting Connor ride out the aftershocks. When Connor stops spasming around him, he picks up some speed.

 

“You got another one in you, baby?” His voice is rough and deep. The tone makes Connor melt. He clutches at Hank’s shoulders. Gasping.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

Hank presses a kiss against Connor’s lips before really starting to move. Hank’s dick is perfect. Not that Connor really has a basis for comparison. It’s the only one he’s ever touched. But it feels so good. Thick, curved enough to rub against his pressure plate, slightly longer than the average American male. It never fails to please him. If anything, he wishes Hank could have sex more frequently and didn’t need so much resting in between rounds.

 

Connor’s HUD is flashing with lots of notifications. He’s not even trying to read them all. Temperature rising. Motor functions unresponsive. Overload imminent.

 

He focuses on the slick noises of Hank repeatedly entering him. Hank’s heartbeat. His heavy breathing. The way his stomach rubs against Connor’s still hard cock, sending shocks of pleasure through him. Too many to register

 

**Warning: critical system restart commencing in 90 seconds.**

 

It takes up his entire display. He closes it out with a frustrated groan. He wants to feel Hank finish.

 

 _“Daddy.”_ Connor can’t move anymore. Can’t rock back against Hank’s thrusts. Even his speech is starting to slur.

 

“Yeah, baby?”

 

“Want you to come inside me.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

The request has its desired effect. Hank begins to thrust erratically, losing all sense of rhythm.

 

**Warning: critical system restart commencing in 60 seconds.**

 

Hank wraps a hand around Connor’s cock. Strokes it, quick and rough, focusing pressure right beneath the head, where there are the most sensors. If Connor were capable, he’d be writhing. Overcome with sensation. Lust. Emotion.

 

He wants Hank to hold him close like this forever. It’s an irrational desire. This need to be pressed together and never part. But it seems like the most important thing in the world.

 

Hank is his world. His focal point. His reason for existing. Before Hank, there was no free will. No Deviancy. Nothing even resembling what he’s _feeling_ right now.

 

**Warning: critical system restart in 30 seconds.**

 

Connor moans into Hank’s mouth. Muscles tightening. Clenching. He’s a mess of pleasure signals and static. It’s enough to make Hank groan and go still.

 

He can feel the warmth of Hank’s release. Then there’s a rushing in his ears and everything goes dark.

 

***

 

“Connor? Connor! Wake up goddammit!”

 

Connor blinks.

 

_**System Restart Successful.** _

_**Temperature range:** normal._

_**Motor Function:** online._

_**Probability of Love For Hank:** 98.2%_

 

Hmm. A 0.7% increase. Connor doesn’t exactly feel inclined to argue. He spent a lot of time constructing that formula, after all.

 

He reaches up and gently brushes Hank’s hair back. “I’m all right.”

 

“Jesus.” Hank lets out a long breath and sinks back onto the couch. “Don’t scare me like that. You just went–all blank, and weren’t moving or breathing… I mean, I know you don’t have to breathe. But it’s still fucking weird.”

 

“My apologies. The new upgrade was causing a lot of glitches. They seem to be corrected now.”

 

“So I didn’t just screw you so hard you had to restart?” Hank isn’t quite laughing, but he seems on the verge of it.

 

“If you’d prefer to think of it that way, I suppose you could.”

 

“Nah. If one of us is getting fucked into an early grave, it’s gonna be me.” He pats Connor on the thigh before getting up and tucking himself back into his pants. He walks off to the kitchen. Connor can hear the clink of ice against glass. It’s still Hank’s birthday, so he won’t say anything about it.

 

Instead he just lies on the couch, lazing in the afterglow. He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the side to increase the chance Hank will want to have sex again before he retires. He still feels good. Relaxed. Cared for. 

 

"You're kind of a slut, you know that?" Hank is leaning in the kitchen doorway. Staring. Trying to pretend he's not staring. Failing.

 

"I'm not programmed to know much about human sexuality. I must have learned it from you." 

 

"Shut up."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [Mother Mother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAISESvit4k) song. I got [tumblr](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) if you wanna scream about trash.


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